“You don’t understand,” Kihrin said.

“It can’t be that bad,” Tyentso said. “No one’s reported a demon attack in hours, anywhere in the empire.”

“Sure,” Kihrin said. “Because the demons are hiding.”

“I noticed that.” Janel’s voice sounded numb. “I just didn’t understand why. They aren’t even attacking the Chasm.”

“Scamp, what don’t we understand?”

“I felt it, Ty. I felt the moment Vol Karoth woke up. That was what Relos Var wanted, what he orchestrated all of this to obtain.” Kihrin laughed, dark and hopeless. “Var convinced me he was interested in Janel, that she was his focus, that this was all about her. But the whole point was to trick me into waking up the one creature I would never willingly free. Vol Karoth’s not asleep anymore.”

Janel snarled, “Someday, somehow, I swear I’m going to kill Relos Var.”

Teraeth said, “Let’s gather everyone. We need to talk.”

64: THE ICE DUCH64ESS

The Borgheva Valley, Yor, Quuros Empire. Four days since the attack on Atrine

Xivan Kaen scanned the valley as a Spurned marched up the narrow trail toward her, carrying a deer on her shoulders. Behind Xivan, the mountain homestead and cave system of Bikeinoh’s clan, the Arsagh, hummed with tension. The steep trail was designed to be difficult to navigate, lined with spikes and steep, treacherous drops. The Arsagh hadn’t been thrilled with Xivan’s arrival.

Still, she’d only had to kill a half dozen or so men, before the rest agreed to a meeting.

“Hon,” the woman said as she passed Xivan, heading into the main structure. The Spurned’s face had been painted with a sigil, the same sigil Xivan wore. The same sigil every man, woman, and child in the homestead now wore, now that they understood its significance and use.

One day she intended to clean out the Spring Caves under every homestead, as Janel had somehow managed. In the meantime, the poisoned rock underneath them would hurt no more Yorans. When the chief had realized she offered them this gift, he’d become considerably more amenable to inviting her inside.

Not that it was a gift. More like a trade, but one with a simple price: any news of Suless’s location.

Xivan’s expression didn’t change as Relos Var and his apprentice, Qown, emerged from the portal. Relos Var paid no attention to the cold, but Qown was bundled up in furs.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Xivan said. “Where’s my spear?”

Var made a face. “Unfortunately, I’m not going to be able to return that, but I’ve brought what I hope will be a suitable apology. Qown?”

Qown knelt and set a plain-looking sword on the ground.

Relos Var turned back to Xivan. “How are you doing, my dear?”

“Still dead,” she answered. “Almost as dead inside as out now, but fortunately for me, the hate is keeping me warm.”